Abyss Break
by Nazrath
Summary: A cryptic letter gets delivered to Brigadier General Roy Mustang's table. He consults the only person who could be expected to have solutions of problems that transcend the boundaries of normalcy. But can the Fullmetal Alchemist unravel this brand new mystery, especially when he is trying to come in terms with the fact that he can no longer perform alchemy? Angsty Ed!
1. Can You Die?

**A/N: Konnichiwa minna!**

 **FMA/HP is a crossover made in heaven and is one of my personal favorites; I have followed both the series, researched till the facts began to repeat. And when a fan who writes fics gets crazily obsessed, she ends up writing a fanfic! I know I have many incomplete projects still awaiting updation but I _had_ to write it to stop the plot from plaguing my waking hours.**

 **It's post-Brotherhood crossed over with Harry Potter.**

 **Al, Winry and Harry and group are 15 while Ed's 16. The HP material is mostly from the _Order of the Phoenix_ but their will be loads of changes in it. No facsimile copy from the books or the anime _or_ the manga...the plot's my own though sadly I don't own either franchise.**

 **Unlike my other _FMA:B_ fic _To Be King_ , this will have less action but more angst...you'll soon see.**

 **Reviews awaited!**

* * *

 **ABYSS BREAK**

 _ **Synopsis: A cryptic letter gets delivered to the newly instated Brigadier General Roy Mustang's table. Unable to make head-or-tail of it, he consults the only person who could be expected to have solutions of problems that transcend the boundaries of normalcy. But can the Fullmetal Alchemist unravel this brand new mystery, especially when he is trying to come in terms with the fact that he cannot perform alchemy anymore?**_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 01: CAN YOU DIE?**

" _The boy who lived can be killed."_

For the life of him, Flame Alchemist and Brigadier General Roy Mustang couldn't figure out the head or tail of the one-liner that had slipped into his in-tray. He could have suspected it to be a prank, only the fact that the people who might have been the perpetrators weren't around anymore; one was _way_ beyond reach while the other was back home, which was at least two-days' journey by train.

Not Hughes, not Fullmetal...then _who_?

He saw the door to his office open, followed by the entrance of his most trusted subordinate.

Not subordinate.

Partner.

"It is Major Armstrong, he says he has an appointment with you," said Riza Hawkeye, frowning infinitesimally as she noticed the discomfort on her commanding officer's face.

"Does he, now?" Mustang asked distractedly, the words of the note still swimming in front of his mind's eye. "I thought you said I was free till lunch."

"Sir, you do not say 'no' to Major Armstrong, I thought it was a very well-established point," Hawkeye replied, relaxing her previous 'at attention' pose though her russet eyes still looked worried.

Mustang gave a mirthless smirk. "All right, let him in. Maybe I'd get my mind to work."

If Hawkeye was a bit surprised at the cryptic remark, she didn't show it.

Turned out that Major Armstrong had come to invite Mustang's entire team for dinner on the coming weekend at the Armstrong Estate.

Roy raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"It has been only three months since the Promised Day, Alex. Why the sudden dinner party?" he asked, twirling the pen with his fingers.

"My younger sister has finally found a suitor—she is formally going to introduce him to us. So I thought, why not make it an occasion? With all the restoration work on every front, people are dead tired. So a small party might pep us up," Armstrong answered in his usual booming voice.

Roy couldn't help but smile at him; the giant man could come across as an overbearing man at times, but that did not mean he missed the nuances. Roy knew without a mirror that his face was a poor imitation of the one he had when the entire Father business started. And with the large scale reconstruction work to carry out at Central, weeding out the "rats" from the military and administration and ensuring that everything went smoothly was proving to be a forty-eight-hours job to be done in twenty-four hours.

He accepted the card. "Thank you, Major. I appreciate it. We will attend the dinner."

Armstrong looked around.

"Aren't the Elric brothers here?"

Roy shook his head wistfully. "They left a week after the Promised Day, as soon as Al could walk without support. They should be in Resembool now."

Armstrong sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. "Guess I should go and pay those boys a visit."

Roy wasn't too thrilled at the aspect—somehow, he got a feeling that Edward Elric wouldn't be too happy to receive the invite.

* * *

*/*/

* * *

 _Gate...gateway to different worlds...white...dark..._

Harry Potter woke up with a start, almost hitting his head on the bunk bed above him. His hands were clammy and he was shaking violently; his clothes were soaked through with sweat. This dream was different...unlike any other dream he had in the last fifteen years of his life. It was mostly Voldemort who inhabited his nightmares, but this one was different.

It was a white expanse, and there was a huge gate. If he squinted, he could make out a white _something_ seated next to it, its chin resting on its palm, and a wide toothy grin. Some sort of runes, symbols were carved on the gate. But whatever the gate was, it made him feel afraid.

Very afraid.

He looked around, unsurprised to find a posse of red-heads in varying positions of slumber—he was in the Burrow, after all. He could hear Ron mumble unintelligibly from the bunk above him.

He gave a tired smile, deciding not to break this rare moment of tranquillity. Voldemort was on the move, so effective sleep would soon become a luxury.

His dream analysis could wait.

He tip-toed out of the room, ensuring that no one was disturbed. His midnight walks both in Hogwarts and at the Dursleys' have sharpened his night-vision. He closed the door as gently as he could and climbed downstairs into the kitchen, skipping those steps which groaned.

Mrs. Weasley's clock pointed all of the family at mortal peril. Harry wished he could show it to that idiot of a Minister as proof that Voldemort was back but he knew he wouldn't believe—Fudge's brain seemed to be on a vacation. He filled a glass with water from the sink and gulped it down, savouring the cool liquid as it wetted his parched throat. His nightmares were slowly upping their ante.

He should inform Dumbledore.

"Can't sleep?"

Harry whipped around, cursing the fact that his wand was on the bedside table upstairs.

A sliver of moonlight lit a mass of sandy brown hair—it was Lupin.

Harry relaxed his shoulders.

"You scared me, Professor," he admitted, placing the glass back on the kitchen platform.

" _Constant Vigilance_ , Harry. Now, more than any time else," Lupin said, a compassionate smile on his face. The last two years had aged him a lot—that big expose at the end of third year destroyed the ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's career. From what Harry could gather from various snippets of information, Lupin mostly performed odd jobs to survive.

"Moody, eh?" Harry said, dragging a chair from the dining table and sitting across him.

"You've lost weight," he added.

"You've grown taller," Lupin said. Harry could hear a tiny bit of pride in his voice.

"Not as tall as Ron, though," Harry replied. Though he was secretly glad he had overtaken Hermione in the height chart.

"A dream, was it?"

Harry nodded slowly, knowing his face would give him away any way.

Lupin looked out of the window, at the waxing moon.

"It would be full moon in two-days' time," he said, almost wistfully. "And I'm out of the Wolfsbane Potion. And Severus is not in the mood to make more."

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "But why?"

Lupin smiled gently. Harry knew that Snape and he weren't the mushiest of friends but surely Dumbledore...

"And Dumbledore has a lot on his mind at the moment," Lupin said, as if he read Harry's mind. "I couldn't possibly bother him."

Harry was about to shake his head furiously when Lupin interrupted him.

"But you should. Apparently this dream is different from the rest?"

Harry nodded in mid-shake.

"Then all the more important it is for Dumbledore to know. I'm going back to Grimmauld Place—I'll let Sirius know about it too. And remember to code your letter—the Ministry isn't to be trusted, and nor the Death Eaters."

Lupin stood up, straightening his robes.

"Tell Molly that my job's done. I'd be in London till the moon starts waning," he said. He hesitated for a moment before giving Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't bottle yourself up...you've friends, you know. People who _want_ to help. Don't rob them off their chance," he said softly before exiting the kitchen.

Harry stared at the retreating back, feeling oddly lonely all of a sudden.

* * *

*/*/

* * *

Edward Elric was a bit surprised, and a bit pleased too.

"It'd be nice, right Brother? I'd love to meet Sheska and the others...it's been three months," Al said excitedly as he read Armstrong's invite. "We can go, right?"

"Guess so," Ed shrugged. "Can't see why not."

"And before I forget, the lovely Miss Winry Rockbell and Madam Pinako are invited too. My sister will be glad to have their company," Armstrong added.

If possible, Al's smile grew wider.

After having lunch Armstrong left, citing how Central was short-staffed at the moment. As Al waved him off from the porch, he couldn't help but feel some sort of uneasiness—his brother, though he smiled as easily as usual, seemed a bit _off_.

And that smile...it did not reach his eyes.

"So you noticed it too, huh?" Winry said softly. Al looked at her—he was at least four inches taller than her now and the last two months had put some muscle over his emaciated frame, lending him a rather attractive slender look. She held his arm—he could feel the minute shakes of worry run through her. May Chang's crash course of Dragon Pulse had made him more susceptible to human emotions. But strangely, Ed's emotions seemed to be locked behind an impenetrable wall.

"I did. And I don't like it," he replied, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. Ed was now sitting on the porch steps, scratching the back of Den's ears as she hummed comfortably. From a distance, the scene looked peaceful. But Al could sense a cloud of darkness cling to the normally bright and cheerful young man.

"Do you think..." Winry faltered, unwilling to voice out Al's biggest dread. But at this rate, it wouldn't be long before his fears gave way to reality.

Ed was in a serious need for help.

Ed sat on the porch, whistling nonchalantly as he massaged Den's neck. He enjoyed the feeling of Den's luxuriant fur on the fingers of his right hand. He knew Al and Winry were whispering away—no doubt about him—but he didn't care. Though he tried to wean his mind away to the smells of the delicious apple pie wafting from the kitchen, he couldn't forget the way Al's fingers tightened around Winry's.

And the way Winry held Al's arm.

Four years back, he never had the time to think about Winry as anything apart from his mechanic and a childhood friend. When she accidentally learned about how Scar killed her parents, he felt something stir inside him. An odd sense to _protect_ her. Not how felt about Al.

Something different. He couldn't think of a life without Winry—he could even live with that dratted wrench being thrown at him.

And he planned to confess his feelings after he brought back Al's body, never realising the price. And when he had done that, he was too late.

Winry...she was never his' to begin with.

* * *

*/*/

* * *

Harry never ended up writing the letter.

 _Dear Professor Dumbledore_

 _Instead of dreaming about Voldemort and dingy alleys, I have started dreaming about a toothy guy and a white room. Please help me, I am scared._

 _Yours sincerely_

 _Harry Potter._

Harry snorted. Even in his head, the words sounded stupid.

He was currently helping Ron and the twins lay the dinner table out in the lawn—Kinglsey Shacklebolt and some other guy from the Ministry had come visiting. Mainly they visited Grimmauld Place to submit their regular reports but since the Ministry's new decree, they couldn't visit there anymore.

"Funny, making that place non-Apparatable," Ron grunted, heaving under the weight of an enormous pot of chicken stew. "Dunno, did the Ministry get a wind or something?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't have any idea either. Only, he was furious—Sirius was only one he felt could soothe his anxiety without acting like a typical adult. And he couldn't even send him an owl at the moment—the risk was too great.

"You think Mundungus Fletcher sold out Sirius for a couple of Galleons?" Fred asked, dipping his finger into the pot Ron carried. The latter gave him a disgusted look which the former completely ignored.

"Even though he's a stink-pot, I don't think he's gonna fall _that_ far," Fred commented as he surveyed the scene. Twilight had just set in, the steady orbs that floated around for illumination casting an unearthly glow around. Moths hovered around and the faint crying of the cicadas could be heard—nothing to let anyone know about the brutal reality that was killing people—Muggle and wizards alike—some hundred-odd miles away.

Harry arranged the cutlery while the twins dragged out the chairs, cursing the fact that there was still a year to go before they were allowed to perform magic in public. Harry revelled in the menial task as it made hi mind calm down and stop over-thinking.

 _Spoon, fork, knife, dish, bowl..._

 _Dark...light...gate..._

Harry shook his head, trying to get that ominous feeling leave his body.

"Hey mate, anything's up?" Ron asked, looking concerned.

Harry shook his head, perhaps a bit too quickly. Ron shrugged back, though the look of concern did not leave his features.

The dinner was not a talkative affair. Mr. Weasley, Bill and Charlie were exhausted and talked in low tones with Shacklebolt and the other man. Hermione seemed to be out of sorts and had almost mixed sugar with her stew before Ginny came to her rescue. Harry quietly spooned down his dinner; it felt as if his discomfort was contagious.

"Ahem!"

It was Mr. Weasley.

"I need to tell everyone something—not that you are going to like it. Dolores Umbridge," Mr. Weasley shook his head slightly at his direction before continuing. "The woman who was part of Harry's hearing two weeks back, she has decided to get on board with her Blood Status project. In normal circumstances, this idea would have been thrown right out of the window without a second glance but she seems to be taking advantage of the chaos at the moment."

Harry looked puzzled. _Blood Status_?

But the stricken look Ron sent Hermione made him re-evaluate his thought process. _Blood Status? Hermione?_

Then it dawned on him. But it seemed like he was the only tubelight in the group and Mr. Weasley had already progressed a lot further.

"Leave?" Ron asked, flabbergasted. Similar looks were mirrored on the others except Hermione who was looking rather furious at the moment.

"I understand that I'm in a pretty dangerous position," Hermione began angrily but Bill interrupted her.

"You're a Muggle-born, Harry's Public Enemy Number One and Ron's the son of the man who's Muggle-loving tendencies are legendary. And everyone knows how you three are good friends," he said dryly, twirling his ponytail around his index finger. "I agree with Dad on this...you three need to hide away."

"But what about school?" Hermione countered. "We've just four years worth of magical education! We can't survive like that!"

"About that," Mr. Weasley said, though Harry could swear he sounded uncomfortable. "Dumbledore came up with a plan. Ingenious..."

"But there's a catch, right Mr. Weasley?" Harry found himself speaking. Mr. Weasley nodded apologetically.

The older man began to dig within his pockets and produced a very old scroll.

"Nicolas Flamel's last letter to Dumbledore. It will answer your questions."

Harry took that letter and began to read.

 _Dear Albus_

 _I have lived long, so don't berate yourself about my death. It is the ultimate truth—One is all, All is one._

 _Alchemy is the thing I treasure the most, to point that you often dubbed as insane obsession. How often you scolded me about how I did not prefer magic? You see, it is because of the simple fact that from where I come from, magic simply does not exist._

 _I come from Amestris, a country in another world. All through my long life, alchemy often intrigued me and one of my experiments made me perform a taboo. And as compensation of my folly, I was thrown here. To your world._

 _I know you might find it hard to believe me, but it is the simple plain truth, my friend. And attached to this letter is an alchemical circle. It is a transportation circle imbibed with a spell that is the base for designing Portkeys. It was my last experiment, a method to return to my world. But I guess Truth caught up with my actions._

 _Should you want to visit my world, just touch the sheet and call out "Amestris". There is another piece of paper—I should expect that it would be enough to cover up your adventures in that foreign land which was once my home._

 _Returning is simple—just say "Hogwarts" out loud and you'd be back. But this circle can be used only for three round trips so be careful._

 _Good luck, friend. May you many adventures._

 _Yours as always_

 _Nicolas_

Stunned silence greeted the conclusion of the letter; Harry could feel his fingers tremble slightly.

 _Another world?_

* * *

 _*/*/_

* * *

Edward Elric felt claustrophobic.

The Armstrong Estate was huge in more ways than one, proving it when the entire Northern Battalion was hidden in its grounds. But still, as he played with his usual favourite chicken quiche, he felt as if someone had pressed a pillow on his face.

In the cavernous dining room of the Armstrongs, he felt suffocated.

He could see Al chat animatedly with Winry and the Colonel, though Roy Mustang had been promoted to Brigadier General.

 _Brigadier General..._

Naah, Colonel sounded better. Old lady Pinako had refrained from coming, saying she needed to stay back in order to keep the shop open. He kind of missed her at the moment—he was sure she wouldn't have ignored him like that.

Even Hawkeye seemed to find Alex's exuberance more interesting as she smiled at his explanations.

His sister, Anneliese, and her fiancé too were wrapped in a deep conversation.

All in all, Ed had the full attention of his conscience.

He managed to swallow the dinner quickly and before the dessert arrived, he exited the room on the pretext of visiting the bathroom. He was sure no one had even bothered to listen to him.

 _Maybe because you are no longer useful?_

Ed shook his head as he walked down the corridor, following where his feet led him.

 _It is the reality, ex-Alchemist Edward Elric. You brought your brother's body back, he stole the one you love. You gave back the country to the military and they forgot you. Not their fault—without alchemy, you are just a brat who thinks he's someone important._

Ed shook his head, unwilling to accept the words that were being whispered to his being.

 _You cannot lie to me...I am you. Your heart. Your deepest desires. I am the real you, the one without the mask. You can never lie to me._

Ed stopped, clutching his head with his hands. It seemed as if someone was hammering from the inside of his forehead.

 _Stop it! Whatever you are, just stop!_

His conscience gave a cruel chuckle at his pitiful cries.

 _Accept yourself, brat. Accept your destiny. You are meant for great things, and rotting away in some village hut does not feature on your to-do list. Seek me, desire my power. After all, it is yours, in a way. Your legacy—left by the one who has already departed._

Ed felt an excruciating pain emanate from the left side of his chest and before he could make head or tail of where he was, darkness overtook him.

* * *

Roy understood what Al was trying to tell him. In fact, he was afraid of the same thing.

"Good you brought Fullmetal here, I should get Marcoh give him a lookover. Brat or not, alchemy was his life. And I'm afraid he is on the verge of going beyond the point of no return," he said slowly, eyeing the said blond from the corner of his eye. Edward Elric was no longer the loud-mouthed, obnoxious _kid_ he knew. Roy suddenly found himself wishing that the Promised Day was not over—even though they had lived dangerously, Edward had _lived_. Now, he was more like a marionette on strings.

"He rarely talks these days," Winry added in a worried voice. Her plate of food was largely untouched. Roy noticed it but didn't comment.

They saw Ed scrape back his chair, mumble something about the bathroom and leave.

"I should go after him," Al said, standing up. Roy pulled him down on his seat.

"I think he doesn't want company...the last four years, he has lived a life high on adrenaline. This sudden complacency is not sitting well with him, similar to what most soldiers feel post retirement. And the fact is, he is still too young to grasp it. For military men to adjust to civilian life is quite hard—most never end up doing it."

Al sighed as he sat back down, knowing fully well that what Roy said was the plain truth. Roy could see acceptance written across the younger Elric's face, even though the amber eyes held layers of doubt and confusion.

Roy patted his shoulder awkwardly; he was never good with the emotional stuff.

"Give him some time," he said, before resuming eating. "I'm worried too. Let him talk with Marcoh once. But of what I can figure out, time will heal all wounds."

* * *

 **Reviews...pretty please with a cherry on top?**


	2. What is Freedom?

**A/N:** Not a long chapter this time...with my graduate school beginning term next month and I am actually going to be living on my own (whoa!)...these last few weeks have been crazy. I have been shopping for stuff which I never realised were actually important for survival (I always thought they grew on the dining table!)...in a nutshell, the usual batshit craziness that precedes a major life-event. I finally got into the B-School I wanted to!

But as far as the grapevine goes, MBA student life's tough...(sigh!) so I will try and write as many chapters as possible this month so that you beauties don't have to wait it out much.

D-Gray Man fans, check out my new DGM Fanfic **Uso no Monogatari.**

And a **HUGE** thank you and hugs and kisses to all my reviewers! I love ya all!

Okay, I have rambled enough, back to the story.

* * *

 **ABYSS BREAK**

 **CHAPTER 02: WHAT IS FREEDOM?**

"This...is... _stupid_..." Ron finally managed to articulate. For once, Fred and George seemed to agree with their younger brother.

"Another... _world?_ Mr. Weasley, I don't understand!" Hermione exclaimed, standing up. "I've never heard of this! I'd researched Flamel a lot in our first year but there wasn't _any_ mention of this Amestris anywhere! Neither in his diary, nor records...nowhere!"

Mr. Weasley looked sheepish, but Harry could see the determined set of his chin—the same way the twins get when they realise that their next prank is foolproof.

"I know what you're thinking, Hermione," Mr Weasley sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it's Dumbledore's orders—I can't do anything. And if you ask me, this would be the best way—you'd be safe. And it's not that I'm letting you traipse away all alone; Sirius is coming with you."

"Sirius?" Harry repeated, surprised. "But how? You said Grimmauld Place was non-Apparatable!"

Kingsley Shacklebolt chuckled.

"Don't worry, kid. I got an hour's window—on the pretext of some checking. It'd be safe. Sirius can easily come here...and I guess we can expect him within a couple of hours."

*/*/

"Brother!"

Ed felt as if a ton of bricks had fallen on his head, or as if someone had sliced it open. It was throbbing like hell. He slowly opened his eyes.

A profusion of white and some blurry colourful blobs greeted his vision; he blinked several times until his eyes focused at the normal precision.

He groaned silently—he could recognise that oh-so-familiar white-washed ceiling and the faint tell-tale smell of disinfectant. And not to mention the thin _thing_ they called mattress.

He was in the damn military hospital! Again!

 _Why, though?_

"You collapsed in the corridor, brother," Al supplied, as if he had read the question in the older Elric's features. "I was so worried. And you were heating up too! Thank goodness the hospital wasn't far!"

Ed started to get up but was pushed back by Al.

"No," he admonished softly. "The doctor said you need a good night's sleep _and_ he's going to keep you under observation for tonight. No buts, brother. You're staying."

Ed sighed, looking at the ceiling. He could see the idiot Colonel and Hawkeye from the corner of his eye; they were talking in whispers. Winry was nowhere to be seen.

He felt his eyes go heavy—he saw a nurse inject some medicine in his drip. Most certainly a sleeping solution.

Ah well, maybe the dreams wouldn't be that bad.

*/*/

Al made sure that his brother had finally fallen asleep before dimming the lights and moving out of the room. The General and Major Hawkeye and left a little while ago, presumably to let the Armstrongs know that the dinner was, for a lack of better word, busted. He sat on the metal visitors' chair in the corridor, tossing his blazer on the seat next to him as he held his hand within his hands.

Ed...what was wrong with him? He could feel that _something_ was plaguing his brother, but he couldn't figure out _what._ Before he could spiral deeper, he felt a soft squeeze on his shoulder.

It was Winry.

"I called up Granny...she said it'd be actually nice if we stayed in Central for a week. Maybe the change of scenery would do him some good," she said, picking up the blazer and sitting next to him.

"It's killing me from the inside, Win," Al said, staring blankly at the floor tiles. He felt his body tremble slightly. "I wish I'd stayed in that armor...this is killing Brother!"

Winry punched him on his arm.

"Alphonse Elric, don'r _ever_ say that! _You_ are the most important thing for your brother! It's just...it's just a _phase_...a shock kind of thing! I know Ed, he'll be _fine_!"

Al felt the stinging pain spread from the point of contact but he didn't move—during the days he and his brother travelled the country in the search of the Philosopher's Stone, danger was paramount and they had to always stay on alert, lest any enemy took advantage of their relaxed status.

Even though times were technically safer now, Al missed those days.

Amidst the Homunculi, Father and all the nonsense that had taken hold of Amestris, they had lived. His brother had _smiled_ , laughed even. But now, Al felt that the man inside the hospital room was more of an empty shell. As if the Gate had taken his soul and spat out the body.

Al suddenly sat upright. That...wouldn't be possible, right? It _couldn't_ be...right? Ed was just suffering from anxiety and stress...nothing more...

"Al?" Winry questioned. She must have noticed the way Al had suddenly stiffened.

"I just need to check out the library, Win," Al muttered absently as he stood up and dashed towards the exit.

"But Al! It's midnight!" Winry called, only to be waved off by a hurriedly running Al.

*/*/

Sirius Black wasn't too thrilled at the prospect.

"This is stupid," he said flatly, succinctly summarising the many-worded speech that was floating about in Harry's head since the time he read the letter. Hermione was marching up and down the grass patch, muttering to herself. A thin trail of fireflies followed her, making the area glow in an eerie manner.

Lupin was re-reading the letter for perhaps the fifth time, his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"See anything I missed, Remus?" asked Mr. Weasley.

Lupin shook his head.

"No...but it's unsettling..." he said slowly. "We don't know anything about this place...what if this turns out to be dangerous than here?"

"My point exactly," Hermione added a little triumphantly, startling Harry. He hadn't noticed her join the table again.

"What if it's not?" asked Bill simply, twirling his ponytail again.

Silence enveloped the table.

"There's a _chance_ that it might be safe...take it. And we can use this opportunity to confuse You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. Instead of roaming in here, you roam there. At least in that Amestris place, you won't be Public Enemy Number One."

Harry mulled on what Bill said. Well, if one thinks that way...

The gloom of the night was suddenly broken by the appearance of a Patronus—a flying squirrel.

" _They are coming."_

"HARRY! RON! HERMIONE! SIRIUS! LEAVE...NOW!" Mr. Weasley roared, whipping out his wand.

Ron and Harry looked at each, slightly bemused while Sirius dragged them to the house, Hermione close at his heels.

"Grab your wand, a change of clothes...hurry up! You've a minute!" Sirius hissed, pushing the duo up the rickety stairs.

Harry looked back at his godfather.

"Go! I'll keep watch," he said quickly, transforming into a dog.

Harry nodded before rushing upstairs.

 _Wand...clothes...photo-album...packet of Chocolate Frogs..._

Harry rushed back down, his arms hardly able to carry everything.

"Give them to me," Hermione said, snatching the pile from Harry's arms and stuffing them into a small beaded bag. Harry looked puzzled.

"Later," she said quickly as she proceeded to do the same with Ron. Harry could now hear the squeals and shrieks from the grounds. A loud pop and Mr. Weasley Apparated next to Sirius the human.

He handed him the letter and the circle.

"Off you go. And good luck!" he said, waving goodbye before Disapparating.

The four of them touched the circle as was instructed.

 _Here goes nothing._

"3...2...1...AMESTRIS!"

*/*/

Al rushed up into the second floor of the library, paying no heed to the surprised squeaks of the night guard. He heard the Brigadier General say something to the bemused man in his most official manner but he did not dwell on it.

 _Is it possible? Can it happen?_

Al had learnt that nothing was impossible in the world, his past being enough proof. He held up the lantern close to the shelves, as close as he could dare without setting them on fire.

 _Milosian Alchemy...Circles and Symbols...Xerxes: Myth or Truth..._

There. He found it.

It was a fat, old, worn-out tome with most pages almost illegible due to its age. It was heavily coded but it was the most accurate account of alchemy in modern times. He knew it for sure.

After all, it was Hohenheim who had written it.

He carried the tome to the reading area downstairs only to find the Brigadier General sitting on a table, a lantern lit brightly. A plate of muffins and two bottles of juice sat next to the lantern.

"Mr. Mustang?" Al said, surprised.

"You won't listen if I tell you to sleep on it. And finding answers in alchemy is no five-minute task, I know that. As it's going to be a long night, I brought some fuel," Mustang said. He had unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, his sleeves rolled past his elbows while his tie and blazer were tossed unceremoniously across the chair next to him.

"What about Winry? And Brother?" Al asked, sitting down.

"Hawkeye and Havoc are staying at the hospital with them," Mustang replied. Al then realised that on the table next to theirs, there was a pile of paperwork.

"Um...sir?" Al asked, eyes pointing to the pile.

"I received a mail a couple of days back. Since I've some time to kill, I might try and get to the bottom of it," he shrugged, stretching his arm to the book pile to pull out a couple.

Al looked bemused at the prospect. _The General...doing paperwork?_

Ed would have rolled on the floor laughing for two consecutive weeks if he had seen that.

*/*/

Harry opened his eyes, only to find he was the last one to do so. They seemed to be in some forest of sorts, the quiet seeming quite eerie to the screams they had fled from. Sirius was seated cross-legged on the floor with his back to him while Ron and Hermione were drawing something on the ground with the help of sticks.

Harry felt calm, perhaps for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament last year.

 _No one who wanted him dead, no one who thought him to be some saviour of sorts. No one who thought him to be garbage._

He, Harry Potter, was not the Boy Who Lived in this world. Just a normal fifteen-year-old.

He sat up, the suddenness of his action making him feel slightly light-headed.

"Oh, you are awake!"

Trust Hermione to have night-vision.

"It's full moon here," Sirius remarked, looking up at the sky through the branches.

"There's some city, perhaps a couple of miles north of here. From the lights, it seems pretty big," Ron said, giving Harry a hand and pulling him up on his feet.

"How long was I out?" Harry asked, rubbing his temples. He still felt groggy.

"An hour, I guess. Not your fault, though. You were hit by a Stunning Spell before we Disapparated," Ron said.

"Bad news," Sirius said suddenly, waving his wand. "Looks like magic doesn't work here."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, horrified. She quickly took out the beaded purse from her pocket and inserted her hand in it. To Harry's surprise, the purse seemed to swallow her hand whole.

"Undetectable Extension Charm," Hermione replied to Harry and Ron's questioning looks. "I made this last year—makes travelling so easy!"

She fished out a book which would have never fitted inside the bag under normal circumstances. "Looks like enchanted objects function just fine. It's performing magic which is posing a problem."

Harry gave a small shrug, pocketing his wand. It was no more useful than a glorified stick anyway. He squinted to the direction of the city where Ron had previously pointed.

"I think we should move towards the city...we can't do anything by sitting here," he said, looking around. Sirius grinned back, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Ron gave him a hopeful look while Hermione was still skeptical.

"There's nothing we can _do_ , Hermione," Ron repeated. "Let's take our chances, shall we?"

Hermione looked as if she was comparing the situations mentally and after a minute or so, she finally agreed.

"Okay, come on kids—time we went exploring," Sirius said, trying to sound grim but failed miserably. Harry cracked a smile at his godfather. Sirius Black might become a tottering old man one day but he would never lose his love for exploring. Besides, he had to admit that the man was breathing freely for the first time since his parents died; he couldn't blame him for being so chirpy.

Time he cut Sirius some slack.

*/*/

* * *

 **Review...please?**


	3. Who could you be?

**A/N:** Yes, I'm alive. And I totally deserve those tomatoes and eggs you're contemplating of throwing at me right now.

I know it's hard to believe but after a roller-coaster of five years, I have some semblance of stability in my life. I am earning my own keep, for starters. Thus now that I am relatively free to think of stuff other than speculate on how my life can go horribly wrong, I've decided to take up my unfinished fics and start updating them. Thanks for sticking with me for so long!

*/*/

Chapter 3: Who could you be?

Roy Mustang thought of himself as a man of many talents. Of course, he was a master alchemist, prodigious enough to have qualified for the State Alchemist program at an early age (older than the Elrics, and that fact was always a sore point) and intelligent enough to handle political, bureaucratic and strategic issues with ease. He thought of himself as a charming man with looks and physique to match and a demeanour aimed to melt even the most frozen of female hearts (barring a certain female Armstrong).

All such enviable talents…being wasted on _paperwork_.

Mustang sighed, wiping his brow for perhaps the fiftieth time as he read through yet another paper of inane description of how toilet paper was mysteriously vanishing from the washrooms of the barracks.

 _I am a Brigadier General, for crying out loud! Not a damn janitor!_

He sighed to himself, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair he was currently sitting on.

He wondered how the pipsqueak sat on these wooden abominations for hours when he used to research for getting their bodies back. He made a mental note to go through the library's annual budget and propose for a furniture upgrade.

The younger Elric seemed to have forgotten that he was in the mortal realm – the way he feverishly read the book, jotted points in his diary and deciphered them, he seemed as if he was deaf and blind to everything other than the tome in front him. The muffins lay untouched.

Mustang grabbed one and bit a large chunk out, savouring the fresh blueberry filling. Gracia Hughes was an amazing baker – it's time she opened a bakery. Mustang knew it would be Central's favourite joint within a blink of an eye.

He placed the completed files over his jacket and eyed the tower of papers still requiring his signature. War was better – at least he was out on the field and not faceplanting on a desk. But then again, war meant danger to his loved ones and if he could keep them safe, well, paperwork could be tolerated.

He eyed the stack again.

 _Tolerated_. Guess he could do that.

Alphonse shut the tome with a thud, making him jump.

"I think I understand what's wrong with Brother," he said grimly. Mustang saw that steely Elric glint and smiled slightly. The Elrics were known for there iron-clad perseverance after all.

"Lead the way, Al," he said, glad to get an excuse to stay away from that ominous stack.

*/*/

Harry Potter's life was the epitome of a topsy-turvy-bumpy roller coaster with loops and twists enough to make one even with most hardened of stomachs puke like crazy. The first eleven years of his life was spent in a cupboard under the stairs where he was hidden away as if he was testament to some tragedy. Then he was suddenly thrown into a world where people revered him like a God, a world where broomsticks actually flew and where there were magic spells to transform his dear little cousin into a pig. A world where a nose-less, immortality obsessed and completely psychotic old man came to life using a drop of _his_ blood and was baying for the rest and where the Minister had the stupendous ability to blame clear-as-day serial killings on cakes gone mad.

And now, he learnt that parallel universes, the pet theory of Muggle scientists, was actually true. And the fact that the Philosopher's Stone could _actually_ turn metal into gold – he wished he had been clever enough to have used it before being the "honourable brave little boy" and given it up.

And now, Amestris.

On the brighter side, there was no Voldemort or Dudley Dursley here to damn him to death. In fact, for the first time ever, he was truly free. No obligations, nothing.

Just him. Just Harry Potter. No prophecy, no Gryffindor, no Chosen One.

Just a fifteen-year-old kid named Harry Potter who happened to have an interesting scar on his forehead.

He kind of liked the idea. And from delighted smile on Sirius's face, his godfather liked it too. Ron looked disheartened but that was expected – for someone who grew up in a magical household, being stripped of magic must feel alarming. But Ron Weasley was no chicken, he would soon take it up in his stride. Just like he had taken up Harry's fame and Hermione's bookworm tendencies and all their adventures. Hermione was most at ease – she was Muggle-born after all. Not to mention she had lived through enough to let a small thing like travelling through universes unnerve her.

"Now what? We move to that city?" Hermione asked, stuffing her beaded bag into her coat pocket. Harry wrapped his jacket around himself more tightly – there was slight cool breeze that was blowing and making him shiver.

"We don't have any other choice at the moment, I think," Sirius shrugged. "Plus, the people of this Amestris place do not have 'kill-or-maim-or-Stun-on-sight' orders for us, so I think we would be fine."

The four wizards got on their feet and slowly started making their way to the mass of lights twinkling merrily in the horizon.

*/*/

"Partial Soul Trauma? What the bloody hell is that?" Winry asked, her blue eyes round and questioning. Mustang had to admit that even he was thrown for a loop as to what Alphonse was saying.

"It's a side effect that comes into play when an alchemist delves into alchemy that calls in soul to the equation," Al explained, his amber eyes hard and face devoid of emotions. But Mustang could see his hand trembling.

Winry, Alphonse, Riza and he were sitting in the hospital lobby. It was almost three in the night and only the night lights were on, casting an ethereal glow over the room.

"Soul is never supposed to be disturbed – no one knows as to how the soul works and what its definition is. Using the soul in alchemy is taboo – Human Transmutation, for example. It is just too unknown and delicate to be tampered with. But when an alchemist does so repeatedly, there have been cases where abnormalities in the soul have been observed."

Mustang could feel guilt come off the younger Elric in waves – and he knew what Alphonse was thinking.

"Alphonse, you are _not_ responsible for this," he said sternly. "Don't even _think_ of blaming yourself."

Alphonse gave him a rueful smile before continuing. "Thank you, Colonel…"

"It's Brigadier General, kid."

"I'm sorry, we are too used to calling you Colonel."

Alphonse shrugged, but Mustang could see that some weight had been lifted off his shoulders. _These Elric brothers are epitome of self-guilt. They can blame themselves even if a flower-pot falls on a passer-by's head._

"So how do we help Ed?" asked Winry softly, clutching the fabric of her skirt over her knees tightly – so tight that Mustang could see her knuckles go white. Riza caught his eye and gave him an imperceptible nod as she placed an arm around the shivering girl.

"Alchemy can't help him now," Alphonse replied, his head lowered as he fidgeted with his fingers splayed on his lap. "Only Ed can help himself – only sheer willpower can help him plough through it."

"If that's the case," Mustang smirked, standing up and digging his hands into his pockets. "Willpower is not an endangered resource where you Elric brothers are concerned. I dare say Fullmetal is going to start his childish whoopassery as soon as he exits his pity party."

His smirk grew wider at the slightly surprised looks of the other three. To their credit, he must have come across as slightly bipolar but truth be said, he was a little fed-up of the gloomy atmosphere. They had overthrown the Homunculi for Heaven's sake! He couldn't take anymore moping and tears and other forms of gloominess.

"Sitting and looking as if the Doomsday itself started living in our house as a permanent resident is not going to make things right," he continued. "We, more than anyone else, need to be as normal as possible so that we can pull Fullmetal out of his mopeyness. Partial Soul Trauma or whatever, time we took the bull by its horns and did something about it."

Winry left the fabric's death grip and looked up to Mustang, a steely determination visible in her azure eyes.

"You're right, Brigadier General. What Ed needs right now is a good dose of wrenches and spanners to his head," she said, strength creeping into her voice with very word.

Mustang sighed, giving Riza a tired smile. Maybe there was something in Resembool's air that made their people ridiculously determined.

*/*/

The city seemed a well-planned one. And to the obvious relief of the four "guests", it seemed to be drier and warmer than London – Harry hated the incessant rains of the concrete jungle. But he got a feeling that this "Amestris" place would be sunnier and have more chipper weather than the gloomy English capital. He got an impression that the hour was pretty late – even though the streets were well-lit, there were hardly any people about. He looked around for a clock or for any indication of time and as if on cue, Hermione pointed towards a rather tall building which wasn't unlike the Big Ben back home. And just like the Big Ben, it had a clock.

"Seems to be 3:30 in the night," Sirius said, following Hermione's direction. "No wonder the place is so quiet."

"I hope the people here use the same number systems and languages as we do," Hermione said worriedly, her brows scrunched in a frown. Harry realized it too, his stomach plummeting deep below.

 _What if they didn't understand the language here?_

"The old Flamel bloke was from here, right? Then maybe there are chances that they will understand our language," Ron shrugged. The four of them were currently standing at a crossroads next to a fountain, the tinkle of water being oddly soothing. Perhaps the fact that something so commonplace could be found in a completely different universe made them relax a little.

"What do we do now?" Harry asked, voicing out the question which he could bet his wand everyone wanted to ask but was afraid to voice out. He suddenly realized that they had no proof of identity or money – how are they going to survive here? Flamel's letter could hardly serve as proof – if that man lived in _their_ world for at least four centuries, how far in history was he in _this_ world? And was he even someone even worth remembering historically?

From Sirius's face, Harry could see that the older man was suddenly realizing that this small side-trip could be a _little bit_ too problematic than he had fathomed.

*/*/

"Alphonse, you and Winry better go back to the hotel, get some sleep," Mustang said. It was almost morning and none of them could be helpful without a little shut-eye. Truth be told, Mustang too felt fatigue hit him straight on like a bulldozer. Too much of ups and downs in a short span of time and he did not like it one bit. And the fact that Alphonse looked ready to drop dead any second just added on to it.

"For once I agree completely, sir," Riza said, gently nudging Winry to stand up. The younger blonde girl looked at the Elric, her fingers fastening around his wrist.

"Miss Riza's right, Al. Let's go and get some sleep. We need to get our wits working if Ed wakes up tomorrow," she said sofly, pulling him up on his feet. Alphonse followed suit and Mustang noted that both brothers tended to follow the automail mechanic's orders without question – a trait sadly missing where his orders were concerned.

 _Maybe wrench-on-the-head conditioning is a thing. Should talk to Marcoh about it._

"Riza, drop them at the hotel and get some rest. I'll see you in the office tomorrow," Mustang said, picking up his jacket from an empty bench and pulling it on. If Riza was surprised that Mustang wasn't planning to take this as an excuse and sleep in, she didn't show it. With a nod in acknowledgment, she took the two of them and started walking to the car park.

Mustang's trademark smirk and wave dropped the second the trio was out of his sight. He looked at his palm to see a burning alchemical circle etched on the glove.

It could mean only one thing – someone who did not _belong_ here had entered Central. Thank goodness he had given in to his paranoia and had the entire perimeter of the city lined with alchemical "guard" circles – a warning system that would alert him the moment a non-Amestrian stepped into the city without permission.

And an unnatural tingle at the back of his neck told him it was not one of Ling's tricks.

"Now who could you be?" he growled in a low voice, walking towards the watchtower.

*/*/

 **A/N:** I can't promise an update schedule now but rest assured that I am not abandoning this fic. I am currently aiming for at least one chappie a month and let's see how it goes.

Reviews, please? :)


	4. For the Love of God

**A/N:** Thank you guys for not giving up on me and on the story! This means a lot! On the work front, things are well at the moment - I am a trainee now so long hours and learning comes with deal. And for all the readers who are worried about pairings, fear not! **I am not breaking up Ed and Winry** \- as the story will unfold, you'll see how much Winry loves him but Ed refuses to see the world in the straight way. More on that in the upcoming chapters!

This chapter more or less builds the ground for the fiction to build so there's not much _action_ per say but they will be up and coming soon.

The story will have a lot of drama as an angsty Edward Elric is drama personified!

Happy reading!

* * *

 **Chapter 4: For the Love of God**

Winry took Al to his room, tucked him into his bed and only left the room when she heard his breathing even out. The one good thing about Al currently was the fact that since he was new to his human body, he still had to learn fake-sleeping. Almighty knew how much trouble she had to go through with Ed's antics when he used to turn up with busted automail and tried to sneak out at night post fitment.

Winry fell back on her bed, sighing softly. If she knew that post Promised Day would make him lose that fire, perhaps she would not have prayed for closure soon. She sat up, kicking off her shoes and drawing her knees closer to her body, wrapping her arms around them.

 _Oh Ed, how will I heal you now?_

How she hoped he had busted his automail in place of the turmoil that was storming in his heart!

*/*/

Harry felt it first.

Maybe it was the terror he had lived with since he could remember – first it was his sweet cousin and now an array of Dark Wizards after his blood. The atmosphere tends to take on a bloodthirsty aura when one's life was in danger.

"DUCK!" He yelled, forcing Ron and Hermione flat on the ground while Sirius jumped sideways, narrowly missing a ball of flame. Had they been standing, they would have been burnt to their bones.

"What the bloody hell – " Ron began, lifting his head. Harry thrust him into the ground again, avoiding the second wave just in time.

"HEY! STOP! WHAT THE HELL?!" Sirius shouted, standing up and lifting his arms as a sign of peace and proving the fact that he had no weapons and meant no harm. Harry seriously doubted the four of them could prove to be harmful, especially not when their adversary was armed with a flamethrower. Well, had their magic worked, that might have been a different story.

Harry lifted his head experimentally to look for the attacker. The fountain was acting as a shield of sorts, protecting them from being burned at the ground level. He scrunched his eyes, trying to focus on the person standing, his hand poised in manner of snapping fingers.

Only one man? And Harry couldn't see anything that could resemble a flame thrower.

"Who are you?" the man barked. Harry stood up slowly, mirroring Sirius's pose. Ron and Hermione followed suit.

"Well, hard to explain," Sirius said with a grimace.

"Explain then if you want to stay alive," the man said grimly. Harry looked at the attacker properly. He was of medium height, slightly shorter than Sirius. He seemed to be lean and well-built and was clad in dinner formals and a jacket, and a pair of white gloves with intricate red designs on them. He was pale with slanted obsidian eyes and messy jet-black hair. His mouth was pressed in a thin, grim line and he looked as if he meant business.

"You speak our language!" Hermione exclaimed, her brown eyes gleaming as if she had found a rare book in the library's Restricted Section.

The man looked slightly puzzled.

"What do you mean?" he barked again, his fingers positioned to snap. "Tell me before I burn you into cinders."

"Wait wait wait!" Harry said quickly. "We are not from here!"

"I know that!" the man snapped. "Where are you from? And I know you don't have permission to visit Central."

"Is this Amestris?" Hermione asked. Ron and Sirius glared at her, but she ignored them. Harry wondered whether their company had made her lose the value of self-preservation.

"Are you joking? You ask me the name of the country in whose capital you stand?" the man practically roared. Harry realized facing Voldemort was far better – at least he had his wand then.

Feeling that Hermione would only infuriate the man more, Harry decided to take up the talking.

"We are kind of in a problem here, you might not believe us but we came from another world. We used a piece of paper written by Nicolas Flamel," Harry said quickly, hoping that something in whatever he said struck chord with the man before him.

"Nicolas Flamel?" the man repeated, curiosity overpowering his antagonistic tone. "Can you show me that paper?"

Sirius stretched out his hand with the envelope containing the letter and the transportation circle. The man read it through, though keeping one eye on the four of them. Harry kind of wished he could lower his arms – they were beginning to hurt.

He pocketed the papers and signaled them to lower their arms.

"Well, you've a lot of explaining to do but thank your lucky stars that I found you. Had you run across someone else, you'd have been in a jail cell right about now," the man said.

"I am Brigadier General Roy Mustang of the Amestrian Military. I am also known as the Flame Alchemist," he added, stretching his hand to the group. Sirius took the hand and shook it.

"Flame? That explains the fire, I guess. I am Sirius Black – and they are Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger."

Mustang nodded at the three.

"I don't trust you completely at the moment though, but we can have this discussion in someplace safe. I know exactly the person who can help you."

*/*/

Roy Mustang had lived through Ishval, fought against artificial, non-dying humans, went blind only to be brought back to the land of colours by a Philosopher's Stone, was a pipsqueak alchemist's commanding officer who had the penchant of destruction and relationship building in equal measures and was covertly courting Riza Hawkeye – the woman famous for having one hand perfectly poised to pull a gun out of its holster at all times and had the reputation of being bang on target.

But looking at the motley lot in front of him, he could feel a headache building up in middle of his forehead.

This was going to be trouble. Big trouble.

The tall, gaunt looking man with straight black hair and haunting eyes gave off an unsettling aura – but the kids that accompanied him seemed to be at ease with him. The bespectacled boy looked at him the way Ed – Roy sighed, thinking about the alchemist these days made his throat constrict – used to look at him back in the Homunculi-hunting days. Exasperation, admiration, trust, disbelief and anger all rolled into one.

He wasn't new to trouble, after all. And trouble did have a way of finding and latching onto him like a particularly blood-thirsty leech.

He led the group to his townhouse in relative silence. He could hear the girl and the man murmur amongst themselves, but he did not eavesdrop. A few minutes and he would be knowing everything anyway.

He unlocked the door to his two-storied home, noting the fact that the milkman had been by already. Guess it was almost morning. He opened the door wide and motioned them in. His neighbours were mostly civilian – most were either businessmen or worked in the government's civilian departments like Finances and the Home Office. But still, he did not want to draw undue attention to the four "guests" till before he got a grasp of the situation. After they all entered into the foyer, the bespectacled boy pushing the glasses up his nose nervously, he switched on the lights and motioned them to the living room.

"Why don't you make yourselves comfortable?" he said. He looked at the girl – she did look like she had rolled down a decent-sized hillock. "Or perhaps you would like to wash up first. The bathroom is down the corridor onto your left. Miss…"

"Hermione Granger," said the bushy-haired girl.

"Miss Granger, you can use the one upstairs just across the landing. Till then, I will fix up a meal. A discussion on filled bellies tend to yield the best results."

Some forty-five minutes later, the group was seated in the dining room. Roy had thrown together a meat and vegetable stir fry, tossed lettuce, spinach and kale salad with croutons and reheated the miso soup Riza had brought in yesterday afternoon. He was right – they were ravenous.

It was almost 6 am when the group congregated in the living room with hot coffees.

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Mr. Mustang, sir. Thank you for having us – we really had no clue what we were supposed to do here," she began, the hostility dimmed considerably by food and warmth.

"I can see you guys mean no harm. But you need to tell me what you are doing here – and where you are from. We have been through a lot the past year and so everyone's jumpy here. I need an explanation." Roy said, placing his mug on the table.

"Well, sir. I guess everything starts with me," said the bespectacled boy.

"And me too, to some extent," the gaunt man shrugged.

Roy must have looked puzzled as the boy smiled at him, though it was a tired one.

"You see, actually back in our world, I'm the Public Enemy Number One and my godfather Sirius Black is a notorious mass-murderer."

*/*/

Hermione cringed at the flat way Harry introduced themselves to the Amestrian man. Public Enemy Number One, a mass murderer, son of a proclaimed Anti-Establishment Ministry worker and a girl whose race has been classified to be "Magic Thieves".

"Magic Thieves?" Mustang repeated, frowning.

Hermione shrugged before answering. "The people who do not come from a pure magical background. People having non-magic bloodlines mixed in the family tree. The current Ministry is under the belief that we 'stole' magic from the 'rightful people'."

Mustang raised an eyebrow.

Hermione felt Ron's hand on her knee give her a light reassuring squeeze as he glared at the man.

"Of course not!" she exclaimed angrily.

Mustang smirked, placing the coffee cup back on to the table before leaning back on to the sofa.

"Okay, okay children, no need to get riled up. I am a military man and I have seen fair share of carnage so nothing you say is really going to surprise me beyond belief. You don't seem to be harmful, though. And my instincts have never been wrong." He yawned, setting up a chain reaction in the room. "You can stay here, I don't mind. But I would need more answers – maybe we can be mutually helpful."

He stood up languidly, hands in his pockets. "But I would advise against you guys going out – as I said, we have undergone a huge _event_ of sorts in the last three months so the people may go from indifferent to murderous in a heartbeat. So stay in for now, rest up while I come up with a plausible plan."

He smiled softly at Harry – to Hermione, it looked as if it was almost nostalgic. Before she could think further, he continued speaking.

"You guys would need a change of clothes, though. For today, please manage with the spare ones I will be keeping in the guest room," he gave an apologetic look to Hermione but she didn't mind. She had packed an extra set of clothes for that very reason in her bag. But finding them without using the Summoning Charm would be a pain.

"Are you going somewhere?" Sirius asked, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"I am an officer, a Brigadier General. Can't skip office – my Major would shoot me."

*/*/

Brigadier General Roy Mustang reminded Harry of Professor Lupin. He could not put his finger on it but there was something _trustworthy_ about the man that made him feel safe around him. Even though Sirius and Hermione had their defenses up against him, he felt that the guy was only trying to help. Considering the fact that they had literally _dropped_ into existence into this world.

A different world.

Harry had yet to digest the fact.

"It would've been better if we could use our magic, you know. No Trace and all – plus Mum's not here to go ballistic at underage magic. Could've made the tables dance or something," Ron muttered, waving his wand wistfully. Mustang had already left an hour ago and Hermione had gone for a bath. Sirius was currently curled up on the oversized couch and was snoring softly, no worry-lines on his forehead for once. Harry wondered whether Sirius had ever slept peacefully since the day Voldemort killed his parents.

"Mustang said something happened here recently," Harry mused as he stood up and walked to the window. He could people walking on the street – the leisurely stride of a tourist, the determined march of an employee, the skip-and-jump of schoolchildren followed by the harried wake of mothers, the slow walk of the hawkers and the steady, measured walk of the retired. An everyday morning sight of a normal, peaceful town. A sight long gone in the magical world.

 _His_ world.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno, mate. We can ask at supper, though. Bet Hermione's going to love it – what with new world and new books and all."

Harry smiled softly. He knew his best friends have fallen for each other and waiting the other one to make the first move. And that made his heart hurt a little as the image of a girl with red hair and freckled face swam in front of his eyes.

 _Ginny_.

He did not know what his feelings for the youngest Weasley was. But he wanted to get to know her more – in a world that was peaceful and free from the darkness.

Which meant Voldemort's downfall.

His hands curled into fists as he remembered the graveyard where Pettigrew killed Cedric and brought his parents' murderer back to life. How he wished he could have done _something_ that could have prevented the return of the Dark Wizard! Had he done that, he would have been in Hogwarts right now, probably having breakfast in the Great Hall and muttering about Snape and his evil homework. But maybe, _maybe_ , this world held a clue? A way to destroy Voldemort once and for all?

He shook his head, yawning. He smelt light lilac perfume.

He turned to see Hermione walk in to the living room, her hair wrapped in a fluffy white towel and was currently dressed in an oversized shirt and trousers.

"I did have a change of clothes, though," she said, slightly haughtily. "But these looked more comfortable."

What they all needed right now was a bath and some sleep.

*/*/

"Sir, you really should not be sleeping."

Roy jolted back up, pen poised in his hand even though his eyes were unfocused and there was a little bit of drool at the corner of his lips.

"Ah, it's you. What can I do for you, Fuery?"

After the Promised Day, Kain Fuery was transferred out from Mustang's division to head the Secure Communications and Information Exchange Division – a new division set up by the Fuhrer in order to ensure that sensitive information did not get leaked out to the public. Grumman had realized that in order to ensure security of its citizens, it was important that military information did not ooze out of transmission lines. And who could be the best man on the job other than one who was responsible for some of the oozing in the first place. Though Roy had loathed losing a trustworthy subordinate, he knew that it was what Fuery was born to do. Besides, it would be good in a way to have trustworthy people at all levels in the Amestrian military behemoth – one never knew when such help would be useful.

All said and done, he had no clue as to why the bespectacled communications expert was looking at his sleep-deprived face with such a bemused expression.

"Do you have an appointment, Fuery?" he asked, blinking to bring the room into focus. The sunlight streaming in from the ceiling high windows lent an unusually cheery disposition to the otherwise somber room. Roy had not personalized the room much – only a stout oakwood bookshelf along the wall on his left consisting of alchemy textbooks, a few journals and numerous framed photographs was his sole personal touch. The slightly worn yet sturdy cherrywood work table and cushioned high-backed chair, the dark blue carpet with light gold trimmings, the dark brown blackout curtains on the windows which were currently tied with beige tassels to the sides and the standard light cream paint was all the military standard-issue. Many had made their cabins reflect their likes and personalities, almost an extension on their homes.

Well, Roy mused, his home wasn't a designer's dream either.

"Not exactly, Brigadier General. But Major Hawkeye has been trying to reach for the last one hour – the phone came up as engaged so she asked me if I could pop in and see if there's any snag – the phone lines are still being laid so its an absolute telephonic nightmare…" Fuery said, scratching the back of his neck as he watched comprehension dawn on his once commanding officer.

Roy looked around, only to see the telephone's receiver dangle uselessly. He considerably paled.

"I should advise that you wash your face, sir," said Fuery, pointing at the drool on his face as he tried to bottle in his laughter. "The Major is on her way."

Five minutes later when Fuery left the Brigadier General's office, he still couldn't help but chortle as to how the Flame Alchemist was still afraid of the Hawk's Eye and her omnipresent gun.

*/*/

 _Never trust, never wither_

 _Every and one be the sinner_

 _Walk the light, be the dark_

 _Truth is bitter but stark_

Somewhere in one of the military hospital's private rooms, a set of bright, burning amber eyes fluttered open.

* * *

A/N: Reviews, please?


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